


drift

by simplyclockwork



Series: natural progression [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Fluffy, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV John Watson, Series, Short, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21587185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: “you and I togetherwalking by the river,my fingers intertwinedbetween yours whilewe walk along.the only sound isthe water splashingon to the shore.we are both at peace”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: natural progression [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538974
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	drift

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet 19 in a series of short fics I'm planning to write based on posts from the tumblr account affectionatesuggestion
> 
> The series will follow a progression into an established Johnlock relationship

The Thames: a thick, swirling dirty stretch of water cutting through the city. John has mixed emotions about the river; recalls times when it has soaked through his clothes and left puddles in his shoes. Generally, these instances are the result of Sherlock’s break-neck, hurtling energy as he pursues distraction and criminals through London streets, but John doesn’t blame him anymore than he blames the sky for dropping rain upon the Earth. Both are forces of nature, indisputable in their unstoppable routine of consistency.

No, John does not blame Sherlock for the several times he has ended up in the swirling grey flow of the Thames. As with so many things, Sherlock is the string that connects him to the pursuit of life; the circumstantial happenings of existence; the ongoing draw of adrenaline-fuelled foot chases over uneven pavement.

Despite his dislike for the Thames, and the memory of its chill seeping into his bones, John finds himself blessing its presence on an almost warm Sunday morning in January. Coffees in hand, he and Sherlock stroll along the streets, taking their time as they cross the concrete walkway curving along the Thames’ route.

They speak of recent cases; of the chill, welcome sunlight; of the benefit of cold-weather strolls if one is bundled up properly. John pauses to readjust Sherlock’s scarf at his throat, brushing the backs of his knuckles against the warm skin of the detective’s jaw.

When they return to walking, moving in synchronized step, their hands drift; reach and interlace, warm palms pressing heat into one another’s skin.

The Thames laps against the edges of its bank, and they stroll through London with peaceful silence in their mouths.


End file.
